


A Near Gunshot (A Close Crush)

by Eccentric_Grace



Category: Psych (TV 2006)
Genre: Angst, Best Friends Burton "Gus" Guster & Shawn Spencer, Bisexual Shawn Spencer, Carlton Lassiter & Juliet O'Hara Friendship, Case Fic, Confessions, Gen, Humor, Hurt Shawn Spencer, I’ll still be editing mistakes, Love Confessions, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Pining, Protective Carlton Lassiter, Slow Burn-ish?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:40:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25180267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eccentric_Grace/pseuds/Eccentric_Grace
Summary: Shawn and Gus lift the yellow tape and walk towards the corpse, which was in the process of being removed from the dumpster.“Now, how on earth did you get here?” Lassiter throws his hands up with exasperation.“Literally? By car,” Shawn shrugs. “Spiritually? Well—“ He raises his hand to his temple.
Relationships: Burton "Gus" Guster & Shawn Spencer, Carlton Lassiter & Juliet O'Hara, Carlton Lassiter/Shawn Spencer, Henry Spencer & Shawn Spencer
Comments: 23
Kudos: 319





	A Near Gunshot (A Close Crush)

**Author's Note:**

> my first psych fic... it took an embarrassing amount of work, but it is here haha

“Detective Lassiter, you’ve got to help me,” a desperate woman cries out. Her voice rings through the police station, but is layered with the sounds of the department continuing to work.

(Shawn used to hate the sound of a police station. The time he spent there as a kid when his dad worked left an impression on his mind for years until his relationship with Henry had gotten better. That, and the fact that the department was like his third home ((Psych being his second)), made the place feel safe and happy—it felt nice to be able to help people in his own… special, to say the least, way.)

“That’s Head Detective Lassiter to you, Ms. Fawn.” The stubborn voice of Carlton Lassiter rang back, his voice steely and firm and held with a sense of authority. “And I can’t help unless you have a body. Now, turn around and walk out that door if you don’t have anything else. I’m doing real police work here.”

“Woah,” Shawn says brightly as he rounds the corner with Gus, stopping just next to Lassiter’s desk. He looks between the two. “What’s going on? Why aren’t we helping this very nice young woman?” 

The woman in question stood in front of them with tears on her rosy cheeks. She wore a short dress and a sweater cardigan, with leggings that covered her short legs. She was small, with big kind green eyes that made her look like a fragile deer. Shawn noticed that her features had an intense level of stress in them. Gus waves at the woman with a flirtatious smile.

Lassiter rolled his eyes and stood up, pulling the two aside. “She says she’s seen a murder, but the body is missing,” he explains in a low, tired voice, “and her claim is that she saw the murder happen early in the morning. My guess is that she was half-asleep and just imagined it.”

Shawn glances back at the woman, squinting his eyes. “Hm. What do you think, Gus? We taking the case?”

“Absolutely,” Gus says slowly, his smirk dragged up to one side of his mouth. He swipes his thumb over his nose and clears his throat, making his way towards the woman.

Shawn shakes his head and turns to Carlton. “I hate it when he does this,” he whispers. “He’s like a totally different person. It’s embarrassing.”

Lassiter stays quiet. His focus is trained on Shawn, looking at him with a rare confusion that resembles what one would look like while trying to learn a new language with no instruction. 

“We’re going to help you, Ms... I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” Gus places his hand on the woman’s shoulder.

The woman shakes his hand off, her eyebrows furrowed with great concern. “My name is Sophia Fawn,” she says firmly. “Can you help me? Are you with the police?”

“Well, no—“ Gus chuckles smoothly. “But some say we’re even better.”

Carlton scoffs, his eyebrows furrowed and his open mouth curled down in offense as his attention is snapped over to their conversation. “Yeah, right. Guster, you’ve never even—“

Shawn grabs his arm and pulls him down to his level. He whispers in Carlton’s ear. “Just let him have this, Lassifrass. He’ll pull the Pluto line eventually, and then she’ll leave. Probably forever.”

Carlton jerks away immediately, looking at Shawn as if he had two heads. “Remember that I carry a gun,” He says through gritted teeth.

“I never forgot,” Shawn winks, sending him a flirtatious grin.

“I—“

“I think I’ll manage without your number,” Sophia says, frowning and stepping back. She turns around and walks away, her heels clicking against the floor behind her.

“Wait!” Gus calls after her. “Have you heard about—“

“Pluto?” Shawn finishes under his breath, and then sighs exaggeratedly. “You’ll get ‘em next time, buddy.”

Gus lets out a huff, turning to face him. “Whatever, Shawn. I am a smooth man. Smoother than the waves of the ocean, and any lady who knows how to ride those waves—“

Lassiter scrunches his nose in disgust. “For the love of god, stop talking, Guster. Both of you get out of my sight. You’re not needed here.”

Shawn claps a hand over Gus’s shoulder and begins to walk out of the department. “Yknow what? Poor choice of words, rocky start, rocky finish—but you’re trying, man.” He holds up his finger. “Proud of you.”

Gus sighs dejectedly. “Whatever, Shawn.”

They begin their trek back to the car.

“We’re going to need to get paid eventually. We need a case,” Gus reminds him with a side eye. “We have bills, Shawn.”

“Dude. Don’t worry. We’ll solve this case, get paid, and then I’ll even buy you a new case of red vines since I ate yours last week.”

Gus starts the car, glaring at Shawn. “You know that’s right.”

-

The next day, the two find themselves parked outside an alleyway that was just a few blocks away from the police station. The shade of the buildings casts itself over the crime scene. 

Shawn and Gus lift the yellow tape and continue walking towards the corpse, which was in the process of being removed from the dumpster.

“Now, how on earth did you get here?” Lassiter throws his hands up with exasperation.

“Literally? By car,” Shawn shrugs. “Spiritually? Well—“ He raises his hand to his temple.

Lassiter stares at him, long enough for it to be awkward. It’s like time stills. His icy blue eyes keep Shawn’s gaze with startling ease. Shawn is reminded of the ocean as he stares back. Not like sandy sunny beaches, but like rain and fog over a deep blue sea.

Shawn lowers his hand, looking at him with confusion. He scans Lassiter’s face for any sort of familiarity. If he’d been waiting for Shawn to say something, he would do the opposite to make him angry. If Lassie had been angry, he would just smile at him and carry on. But he’s never seen this look on Lassiter’s face. 

Shawn’s breath stills. “Uh.”

The sound of Gus snapping his fingers in front of Shawn’s face is what finally causes him to blink. He clears his throat and brings his hand back up to his temple. “I sense that you need our help with this case.”

Lassiter shakes his head and walks away. “You’re full of psychic crap, Spencer. Go home. We already know the guy was murdered.”

Shawn walks towards the body, deciding to think about why Lassiter was staring at him like that later. Gus follows close behind him, although looking between him and Lassiter with narrowed eyes. When the corpse is in view, Gus’s face goes pale and he shakes his head. 

“Nope.” He looks up. “I hate it here.”

Shawn doesn’t respond, and instead scoffs at Lassie. “Well, duh it was murder. What have you found so far?” He asks as he scans the body for anything that was missed.

“That’s confidential information,” Carlton interrupts. “And if I remember correctly, you two were not hired for this case. Go home.”

“We’re about to be,” Shawn blurts. 

Lassiter raises an eyebrow, and then groans in annoyance as Shawn continues to raise his hand to his temple and close his eyes.

“I’m sensing that this murder has a close connection with love, darling, honey—dear. Buck? A—fawn? Yes! That’s it,” Shawn opens his eyes. “This is the murder that Sophia Fawn called in.”

“The signs do all point to the victim being murdered in the last twenty-four hours,” Juliet points out as she walks onto the scene. “And there’s no sign that the murder actually took place in this spot. Maybe we should call down Sophia and get a statement?”

Lassiter sighs in bitter resentment. “Fine. O’Hara, call her down to the station. Spencer, get the hell out of my crime scene. I’m sure I’ll see you later anyways. McNab! Check security footage of the area.”

“Yes, Sir!”

“Of course you‘ll see us later! I want a chance to talk to the witness,” Shawn grins. “Maybe a certain psychic can get a reading...”

“...Plus, you totally owe us for this tip,” Gus adds. 

Carlton rolls his eyes heavily and walks around them, heading to his car with Juliet following after him. “You can have five minutes,” he says over his shoulder. “Chief Vick is probably going to end up hiring you buffoons anyway.”

“Thanks, Lassie!” Shawn calls after him. He goes quiet and looks over the crime scene before walking back to the Blueberry. “Gus, I’ve got nothing yet.”

“I thought you said it was connected to Sophia?” 

“It was a guess!” Shawn defends. “It only makes sense, honestly. The timelines match up close enough for this to be the murder Sophia was talking about.”

Gus sighs, shaking his head as he gets into the car. “I cannot believe that we made it this far into this agency.”

“Me too, Gus. Me too.” Shawn grins and looks over at him. “But hey, we should appreciate it while we can, right?”

As Gus starts to drive towards the department, he gets oddly quiet. Shawn looks over at him, so Gus speaks up. “Are you ever going to tell them? Detective Lassiter, Chief Vick, Juliet…”

“No, I--” Shawn sighs. “Why are you asking this? I can’t tell anyone, you know that.”

“What if you meet someone?” Gus asks.

Shawn falters. “What?”

“What if you meet someone?” Gus repeats, focusing on the road. “What if you fall in love, meet a nice girl--or guy, for that matter. Wouldn’t you tell them?”

For a moment, Shawn imagines the possibility of keeping the truth a secret forever. The idea of taking a secret to his grave, and having everyone who knows do the same… It isn’t something he was completely fond of, especially if he does end up finding someone. 

“I don’t know, Gus,” Shawn says, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Probably. I have to actually find someone first though, so I doubt I have to worry about it for a while.”

Shawn thinks about falling in love. Buying a house, getting married, maybe even having kids one day—it was a lovely dream, but it ends just like that. A word; not a reality. Just a dream.

“I guess I’d have to trust them first. With like, my life, or whatever. But you know me. Nobody stays with me that long, not that way. It’s not their fault that they can’t handle a life with someone that has such great hair,” Shawn shrugs offhandedly.

Shawn had never really been broken up with, per say. They said he’d been too immature. Too energetic. Too all-over-the-place. Too much. Some said he never focused, some said he didn’t focus enough. It didn’t ever matter. He would pack up and leave before they could actually say the words “I’m breaking up with you”. Then it was on the road and off to another city for another stupid job and another stupid date.

Now it was different, of course. He had a job that he loved, in a city that he loved, working with people he loved, and he didn’t have plans of leaving any time soon. The next reasonable step would be to find a person that he loved, that loved him back just as much to settle down with. Someone who would stay, and who wanted Shawn to stay; no matter who he was.

“That’s sad, Shawn.”

“Hmm.”

The car parks in front of the building, and the two make their way into the station without another word. They turn down the hall and into the interrogation room.

Across the glass of Interrogation Room 3, Juliet sits across from Sophia with a notepad in front of her. Sophia is nursing sips from a cup of water, her legs crossed under the table. Her eyes are full of worry.

“Did you find the murderer? I must admit that I’ve been quite restless at home. Our neighbourhood hasn’t been treated kindly when it comes to crime,” Sophia says. “After all of this, I’m considering leaving the city. Moving somewhere safer. No offense to you, of course. You work hard to keep Santa Barbara clean; I don’t mean to be offensive that way.”

Lassiter watches the scene intensely, his eyebrows furrowed with concentration. Shawn steps up behind him, looking through the glass. He nudges Lassiter with his elbow. “What’d I miss?”

“She’s getting a statement, Spencer.” Lassie doesn’t even look at him. “As you can clearly see, because you have eyes.”

On the other side of the glass, Juliet shakes her head. “No, no. I completely understand, Ms. Fawn. As for finding the murderer, we are working as hard as we can. I would like to ask you some questions, if you don’t mind. About what you saw.”

“No, not at all. Ask away, please. I’ll tell you anything that could help,” Sophia says, setting the cup of water down on the table. Her voice is light, and her big green eyes look up at Juliet willingly.

Juliet smiles. “Great.” She clears her throat. “Well, let’s start by going through what happened yesterday morning. Can you tell me again what happened? In order, if you can.”

“Yes, of course.” Sophia looks up. “Hm. I think I woke up at around three in the morning. I had heard gunshots, but I… You see, it’s normal, where I live. It’s a dangerous neighbourhood, like I said.”

Juliet nods, writing some things down on the paper in front of her. “I see. What happened after you woke up?”

“Well, I think I looked out my window. I couldn’t see anything really definite, it just looked like shadows. There were two people, but that’s all I could tell. I’m afraid I went to sleep after that,” Sophia looks down. Her eyes become glossy. “I’m so sorry. If I had known it was real, I wouldn’t have fallen back asleep. I can’t help but feel this is my fault.”

Lassiter scoffs. “Perfect. Our only witness can’t tell what’s real or not.”

“I sense she’s not done,” Shawn says simply. His only response is an eyeroll.

“I understand, Sophia,” Juliet says slowly. She looks at the glass for a moment, no doubt trying to subtly communicate with Carlton. “Can you elaborate on your previous comment? What did you mean by “if I had known it was real”?” 

“Oh,” Sophia sniffles wetly, wiping a tear away from her cheek. It’s replaced near instantly with another tear. “Two months ago, my husband was killed. It was never fully solved. I believe it’s still being investigated, but I haven’t received any sort of updates.”

Shawn notes the necklace Sophia wears around her neck, which has a silver ring strung onto it. It looks fairly worn, but not damaged in any particular way. He wrinkles his eyebrow up. The ring must belong to her late husband.

“I knew she looked familiar,” Lassiter mutters, and then turns around and leaves the room in a hurry, probably to go examine the case over again. Lassie was never one for loose ends. Shawn watches him go and then steps closer to the glass.

“What are you getting?” Gus asks quietly.

“Hm.” Shawn looks over at Gus. “Her husband’s wedding ring is around her neck, so I don’t believe she’s lying about that. I just see a lady who has seen some big-time downer stuff. You?”

“I’m not the psychic.”

They stare for a moment and then point at each other.

“So, how did you end up calling the police?” Juliet asks. “If you believed it was a part of a dream.”

“When I woke up later, probably around nine am? I went for my morning walk, and I saw blood splattered on the dirt where I thought I saw the murder last night.” Sophia frowns. “That’s when I realized it most definitely wasn’t a dream. Then I called the police.”

Juliet nods, and keeps writing on the note pad. “Okay. Is there anything else?”

“No,” Sophia sniffles again, wiping the rest of her tears away. Her cheeks were red and puffy, which made her look ill when paired against her pale face. “That’s all I saw.”

“Thank you, Ms. Fawn. That’s all I needed.” Juliet stands up. She then frowns solemnly. “I’m sorry for your loss.” 

“Thank you, Detective O’Hara.” Sophia gives a weak smile that barely meets her eyes and then stares at the water cup on the table blankly, trying to bring herself together.

Juliet nods and leaves the interrogation room. She greets Shawn and Gus at the door. “Shawn, do you need to ask her any questions?”

“No,” Shawn says after a moment. “I think you asked all the right ones, Jules. I haven’t sensed anything so far.”

“Okay,” Juliet looks between the two of them. “Care to join us in the autopsy room? Maybe you’ll get a reading there.”

“Of course.” Shawn grins, following her up the stairs and through the hallway. He ignores Gus mumbling his disdain for the room under his breath.

Juliet leads them in, opening the door.

“Woody! Tell us what you got, man.” Shawn looks over the body. From what he could see himself, it looked like three gunshot wounds. Nothing else was out of the ordinary; at least when it comes to corpses.

“Our victim’s name is Marco Lunise,” Woody starts. “He suffered three bullet wounds, one to the sternum, the leg, and the heart. Some testing shows that he had eaten recently, and he also consumed alcohol. He probably ate out. I knew this great restaurant down the street—“

Shawn mentally looks over the entire map where Marco was supposedly murdered before he was moved to the dumpster, twisting through roads and buildings. He remembers one restaurant in particular that Marco could have been able to eat at before he was killed.

He leans over to Gus, whispering under his breath. “ Gus, I think I know where we need to look.”

“Woody, can you tell us anything regarding the murder weapon?” Lassiter cuts in. “Or anything that’s actually important?”

“Oh, right!” Woody chuckles. “Well, from what I can tell, the bullets were definitely what killed him. The shooter shot from the front, using what looks to be a standard handgun. And he was murdered in the last twelve hours, at least.”

“Okay. ” Juliet turns to Lassiter. “I’ll go run a background check on Marco Lunise. If he has any close family, I’ll call them in for questioning.”

“Great idea. Get to work, O’Hara. Call me if you have any important details.” Lassiter suddenly turns to Shawn. “Spencer. Can I talk to you?”

He blinks with wide eyes, turning to Lassiter with a temporary shock. “Uh. I don’t know, can you?”

Gus rolls his eyes. “Shawn, you know you hate that line. You always complained when a teacher said that to you, and you punched Richard Linville when he said that to you in the sixth grade.”

“Gus, don’t be the toppings that fall out of my sandwich. I’m trying to talk to Lassie. Also, I punched Richard Linville because he stole the laces off of my sneakers. What kind of monster does that?”

Gus clicks his tongue. He shakes his head and leaves the autopsy room. Carlton and Shawn watch him go.

Shawn then turns his gaze over at Lassiter. “What’s up, Lassiface?”

Carlton’s eyes flicker to Woody, who was now watching them both with his signature wide-eyed grin. “How about we talk somewhere else?”

“Oh my god. Are you finally going to kill me?” Shawn asks dramatically. “I mean, I knew the day would come, but so soon?”

“It was nice knowing you, Shawn!” Woody chirps helpfully.

Carlton glares hard at Woody, who’s smile drops. If there was anything Carlton was famous for, it was his infamous death glares. Carlton tugs at Shawn’s arm by the sleeve of his shirt and pulls him into a filing room. The room was dark and vacant, and Shawn had to squint to see Carlton’s face properly.

“I wanted to ask you something,” Carlton said quietly. It was strange to hear Lassiter in this manner. Quiet, but calm. There wasn’t a hint of a threat hidden in the tone. Shawn noticed this, but refused to let his guard down. Shawn was never somebody to let a situation out of his control, and he didn’t have control if he didn’t recognize responses.

Shawn wasn’t going to let the situation get out of his control like it did at the crime scene earlier. He needed to do something to make things more normal.

“Am I being executed?” Shawn whispers seriously. “Or are you here to do something more fun? I mean, this is a very dark and intimate room we’re in, and I can’t say that I would be--”

“Spencer, can you be serious for one damn second?” Lassiter interrupts with his voice laced in its usual exasperation. Perfect. Shawn can work with this.

“If you’ve ever met me, then you know that answer is no.”

Carlton huffs, looking away from Shawn’s eyes. “I just wanted to ask if you were doing alright after the whole shot-in-the-shoulder thing.” The hand that was still placed firmly on Shawn’s sleeve lifted suddenly, as if Carlton realizes that he could be hurting him. He coughs awkwardly. “It’s a two second question. Just answer it so we can both move on with our lives.” 

Genuine warmth filled Shawn’s chest, despite being put off guard. His eyebrows relaxed, and his mouth hung open in a gentle ‘o’. Whatever quip he had half-formed in his brain fizzled away, and he just looked at Carlton with awe.

“Shawn, stop making it weird.”

The warmth melted away to be replaced with confusion. His eyebrows furrowed, exaggerating his features so that even Carlton could see how confused he was in the dark room. “Did you just call me by my first name?”

“Sweet lady justice. Nevermind,” Carlton takes a full step away and swings on his feet, leaving the room without looking back. The door hangs open behind him, letting the light of the hallway flow in to fight the dark. 

Shawn shakes his head, muttering to himself. “What the hell was that, Lassie?”

He takes a deep breath, clearing his head. He needs to go find Gus. They have a restaurant to investigate.

-

Detective Lassiter collapses heavily in his chair. He’s conscious of his stupid infatuation with Spencer, he has been ever since O’Hara pointed it out to him a few weeks ago. Since then, he’s been painfully aware every time the man so much as looks at him, and even more aware when he bites insults at Shawn.

Of course, being arrogant, as Juliet so kindly put it, is not an attractive trait. Lassiter tries to hold back the rude comments, he really does. It’s just different with Shawn. With Shawn, he wants to banter with him all day long. Shawn is intelligent, and witty, and keeping up with Lassiter is no problem for him—which of course attracts him all the more.

He’s been trying to ignore his “crush”, but it’s been more difficult than he wanted. Especially after seeing him in the hospital for a gunshot wound to the shoulder, just because the idiot wasn’t careful and loved to get himself in sticky situations. The internal conflict of keeping him safe and pretending not to care was finally bubbling over, and Lassie didn’t know what to do about it. 

It didn’t help that Spencer could read him like a book. Not because he was a psychic. Lassiter will always and forever believe that his psychic abilities are a load of horse crap. But the man was a fantastic detective, better than anyone that Lassie has ever seen. He would be a fool to not acknowledge that. 

A brilliant detective is able to spot stupid crushes, especially when that detective is needy for attention. Shawn was always needy for attention. 

His mindless reviewing thoughts are interrupted by the sound of a file dropped on his desk. He snaps back to attention, and sees Juliet standing at his desk with a professional smile.

“Marco Lunise. He has a criminal record, most of it just minor assaults. He’s married to Jessica Lunise. I called her about twenty minutes ago; she’s in the interrogation room now.”

A distraction is just what Carlton needs right now, so he stands up and takes the file. “Great work, O’Hara. Let’s go get some answers.”

They walk into the interrogation room and Carlton sits across from Jessica.

“Mrs. Lunise,” Carlton addresses shortly.

“Please, call me Jessie,” Jessie says firmly. 

The wife wears her hair up in a messy bun. Her makeup is perfected, down to the red lipstick and winged eyeliner. She smells faintly of gunpowder, mixed with motorcycle exhaust. Her skin is pale white, but Lassiter assumes that it’s a natural trait and isn’t because of nerves.

“No thank you.” Carlton clears his throat. “Where were you early this morning? Say about three?”

Jessie is quiet, and then begins to speak clear as glass. “I was awake all night. Last night Marco left again. I knew he was probably going to hook up with someone again, so I wanted to stay up and wait for him to get home.” 

Carlton jots down some notes, watching her expression carefully. “Did your husband cheat often?”

Her dark eyebrows cross, and she huffs angrily, shifting in her chair. “‘Course he did. My husband is a piece of shit. He got what was coming to him, if you ask me.”

“So, you would say that you were angry with him the same day he was murdered?” He asks easily, fighting a smile. He’s done these sorts of cases before. The wives get angry, they get a weapon, they get revenge. Case closed.

Jessie stares Carlton head on. “I’m always angry with him. The time or date doesn’t matter. If you’re asking me if I killed him, the answer is no.”

“Do you by chance have any experience with firearms?” Carlton asks with narrowed eyes.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but yes. I go to a local gun range pretty frequently.” Jessie sighs. “I’m one of their best customers.”

Carlton smiles. “Perfect. Do you know where he went last night?”

Jessie shakes her head. “I can’t say for sure. I know that he usually goes to the Painted Pavilion, which is this place on the other side of town, but I don’t know if that’s where he went yesterday.”

Lassiter puts his pen down and stands up, looking over at his notes. “Okay. Thank you, Mrs. Lunise. We’ll call you for any valuable details about your husband. I highly suggest that you stay in town. You know… Just in case.”

He leaves the interrogation room, bringing his notes with him. Juliet nearly runs into him in the halls.

“Oh—Sorry, partner. I was heading your way, actually,” She smiles brightly. “We’re going to go investigate the place that the witness said she saw the murder happen. You ready?” 

Lassiter nods firmly. “I’m driving.”

Juliet tosses him the keys, which he catches effortlessly. “I know,” she grins.

-

Gus and Shawn park outside of Painted Pavilion, the only restaurant in the area of the murder location. 

The moment Shawn enters, he’s hit with an unpleasant mixed scent of warm alcohol and grease. He scrunches his nose with disgust. “Good lord, this smells like a college party. Gus, how’s the super sniffer doing?”

“The super sniffer has died, Shawn,” Gus says, furrowing his eyebrows with pain. “It’s so bad. It’s so bad,” he repeats, shaking his head with closed eyes.

The inside of the joint is unsurprisingly empty for being in the late morning. The lights are dim, and dark curtains are pulled over the windows. A janitor is sweeping up peanut shells off the floor, and waiters and waitresses are sitting at separate tables, scrolling through their phones.

There’s only one customer in the place, sitting passed out over at a far table. There are several empty glasses next to the person’s head. They’re mumbling incoherently to themselves, and it’s clear that they aren’t getting up any time soon.

Out of the workers that were there, one of them stuck out more than the others. A man who looked just barely twenty-one who stood behind the counter. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he was stifling a yawn as he cleaned the same glass over and over.

Shawn raises his eyebrows in interest and walks over and slides onto a barstool. “Hello, Miles. I’m Shawn Spencer and this is my partner Bublé Bubbles,” Shawn gestures to Gus, who waves.

“Listen, I don’t know how you know my name, but I’m not interested.” Miles shifts uncomfortably.

“For one—your name tag. Which is upside down, by the way. For two—“ 

Gus interrupts him. “We’re here to ask you some questions about a man that was here last night.”

“I’m sensing that you might have seen him,” Shawn adds, placing his hand up to his head.

“I mean, yeah? Maybe? Do you have a picture or something?” Miles asks as he turns his name tag right side up. He was skittish and nervous, trying and failing to give eye contact.

Shawn hums, noticing how Miles was responding to their questions. “No. Did anyone leave around one to three in the morning last night?”

“Um… I think there was a guy, yeah. I kicked him out because he was making a lot of people—including me—feel uncomfortable? And uh—He was trying to cause fights with some of the other customers. I think his name was Marvin or something.” 

Miles kicks a backpack further under the bar. Shawn notices, but doesn’t question.

“Marco?” Gus suggests with raised eyebrows.

“I’ve heard it both ways,” Shawn says immediately. He then shakes his head, doing a double take at himself. “No I haven’t, actually. I don’t know why I said that. Continue.”

“Yeah…” Mikes shrugs. “I think that Marco was it, actually. Is that all?” Miles looks at the clock quickly before looking back at Shawn and Gus.

Shawn narrows his eyes and then nods, kicking off the bar stool. “Yep. Thanks, Miles.”

As soon as they walk out the door, Gus shakes his head. “I bet it was him. That guy was suspicious.”

“I mean… Maybe. He did seem nervous. But he was just a kid,” Shawn says.

“Kids are very capable of murder, Shawn. You’ve seen movies!” Gus starts the car up.

“Of course I’ve seen movies!” Shawn says exasperatedly. “But Miles didn’t do it. The kid was shifty because he had to get to class. He had a backpack, Gus. It could have been his first job, too, which is why he was so nervous speaking to us... and why he chose to do the night hours while on a school schedule.”

“I don’t know. I’m still betting it’s him. What if the backpack had the gun in it?” Gus pulls out of the parking lot and onto the road. “Where are we going?”

“The location of the murder. We’re going to need to do some more investigative work for evidence if we want to solve this thing.”

Gus sighs. “I hate when you’re right, Shawn.”

“How are you not tired of hating all the time? I’m basically always ri—“

“Shawn.”

“That’s fair, I’ll stop. But I am always righ—“

“Don’t make me kick you out of this car. I know how many things you’ve been wrong about, I’ve kept a list since fifth grade in order to keep you humble.”

Shawn grins smugly but stops talking. After a few moments of silence, Gus speaks up again. “So, any theories yet?”

“Well, we only have two suspects on the table so far,” Shawn points out, trying to think. “And I already crossed one of them off the list, because I’m sorry Gus but I don’t think that kid is even strong enough to hold a gun. I haven’t actually talked to Marco’s wife, I don’t know if she’s done it.”

Gus shrugs. “Well, if you don’t think it’s Miles then she’s the only suspect we’ve got.”

“I guess. It just seems like I’m missing something. Something that’s right in front of my nose,” Shawn sighs.

He got this feeling about a lot of cases, right before they were about to be solved. It was the worst feeling, to know you have all the information and not the ability to piece it together yet. It was dangerous at that point, too. Sometimes the information that isn’t put together is the kind that gets people killed.

“I’m sure you’ll figure out whatever it is eventually. Maybe you could talk to your dad,” Gus suggests. 

“Yeah. Maybe.”

They pull up to the new crime scene, which has now been taped off. Shawn spots Lassiter’s car and quickly unclicks his seatbelt. Maybe now he could ask him about what happened earlier. 

From all of the training that his dad gave him, the one that he used the most often was how to tell when something was being hidden from him. He’s used it in countless cases and arguably even more when meeting and talking to people. Basically, he’s had a lot of practice, which is why he knows that Lassiter is definitely hiding something from him.

The more important question is--What is he hiding?

“Hey, Lassifrass! Jules,” Shawn greets exuberantly. 

While Carlton doesn’t respond to him, busy talking to one of the officers on the scene, Juliet smiles and walks over. “Hello, Shawn.”

“What have we got?”

From what Shawn can see, there are a few droplets of blood on the dirt, which is being put into a forensic bag. He notices two sets of footprints. A few feet away he can see a gun being put carefully into an evidence bag. He raises his eyebrows, taking the information in, and then looks at Juliet.

“Well, we found blood on the dirt. It’s being sent to the lab for testing. We also found the potential murder weapon, which is what we’re hoping to find prints on. It was tossed in a bush off to the side, only a few feet away from where the victim was supposedly killed. As you can more clearly see, there are two footprints that were there before we got here, but… It’s been mostly washed away from last night’s rain. We could only identify one of the prints, belonging to Marco,” Juliet explains. She lets out a breath. “That was a lot of information. Are you getting any readings?”

Shawn looks over the area again quickly. He spots a small, torn piece of cloth sticking on to one of the branches of a bush. He closes his eyes, putting his hand up to his temple. “Yes, Jules, I believe I am… I believe you missed a piece of evidence. Clothes. Wait, no. Cloth. It’s a piece of torn cloth. Yes, the spirits are absolutely sure--”

Shawn widens his eyes and raises his hand up. He pretends to be yanked to the right, where the bushes are. His hand floats around the area, before pointing to the cloth. “There! It’s right there.”

Juliet nods, taking a bag out of her pocket. “Thanks. We’ll test this. Any idea who it may belong to?”

“No, the spirits don’t have an answer to that. However, I’m very curious on how your interview with Marco’s wife went,” Shawn says, raising his eyebrow. “Any deets to that?”

“How did you know that we questioned--” Juliet stops herself and then nods. “Right. Well, Marco had been cheating on her. Apparently it was a routine thing, so… She had a motive. She also admitted to knowing how to use a gun, because she said she went to the gun range pretty frequently. She’s our number one suspect right now.”

“I see. I wish I could have talked to her before, maybe I could have--” Lassiter walks over, stopping Shawn mid sentence. “Lassie! How are you?”

“I’m just fine,” Lassiter bites. “What are you doing at my crime scene?”

“Psych-kicking it up. Haha. See what I did there?” Shawn grins, looking over at Gus.

“C’mon, son,” Gus grins back. 

Lassie rolls his eyes, and begins to walk away. Shawn quickly jumps up to follow after him, determined to find out what it is he’s been hiding. “Lassie, wait! I never even answered your question earlier, I was too busy being absolutely shocked that you cared--”

Lassiter stops at that, and turns around to look at Shawn. “Why don’t you pretend I don’t care?”

“Wh—” Shawn falters. “Well—I could, of course, do that. But, I mean, it’s not exactly—”

“Go home, Shawn. Once the prints come back from the gun, the murder will be solved easily. Arrests will be made, justice will be served, all that jazz,” Carlton shifts on his feet. “Why do you insist on helping with every case?”

“I don’t help on EVERY case,” Shawn defends, gesturing his hands in the air. “Y’know. Just the ones that you work on. Uh. Because you get the most interesting ones, of course. Duh.”

Lassiter watches him carefully, and then shakes his head. “Of course.”

The way Carlton was looking at him in the moment, like someone with a dream they couldn’t reach. It was then where things started to become clear.

Shawn’s face brightened with understanding. “Lassie,” He says in quiet awe, looking at him in a new kind of light. His heart warmed and bubbled and twisted and turned, and he felt a rush of happiness.

Lassiter raises an eyebrow. “Spencer?”

“I…” Shawn smiles a bit. “I don’t know. Uh… I’ll talk to you later, right? At the station?”

“Probably,” Lassiter drags out the word, looking at Shawn with confusion. “Why?”

“Nothing. I’ll see you then,” Shawn waves goodbye to him, continuing to sport a sweet smile in Lassiter’s direction. 

“Okay?” Lassiter shook his head. “O’Hara! Let’s go.”

Shawn watched as he and Juliet got into the car and drove off. Then he grinned wider and walked back to his partner, He nudged Gus on the shoulder. “Dude, I think Lassie has a crush on me.”

Gus scoffs. “Yeah, right. Stop playing, Shawn.”

As they walk to the car, Shawn continues blabbering excitedly.

“No, I’m serious! I think his heart hearts me, for real! Haven’t you noticed him being nicer to me lately? And he’s just been acting weird. It’s totally ‘cuz he like-likes me,” Shawn gives Gus a shiny smile. “And to think: all this time we thought he hated us!”

Gus starts the Blueberry. “I’m pretty sure he still hates me.”

“Oh please. Gus, you know we’re a package deal.”

Gus shrugs, but makes a face of agreement. Once they’re on the road, he speaks up again.“So, what are you going to do now? Lassie likes you. Do you like him back?”

The question makes Shawn’s smile dim. Of course he likes Carlton. He probably always has. They were practically opposites, but that worked for them. He doubts Lassie would want to change him like previous flings he’s had—Not that he wants Lassie to be a fling, of course. Shawn was in this for the long haul this time.

He’s reminded of the time he saw Carlton in the bar, which seemed like forever ago. He said: “You astound me.” It was slurred, and Carlton couldn’t look him in the eyes due to being drunk out of his mind—but he was telling the truth, and Shawn never forgot it.

”I think so,” Shawn says after this reflection. “Wouldn’t you, though?”

“I’m straight, Shawn. I definitely wouldn’t date Lassiter.”

Shawn clicks his tongue. “Fair enough. Can you drop me off at my Dad’s? I’m going to see if he has any ideas about the case.”

“Sure.”

During the drive, Shawn is left with nothing but his thoughts. He reviews the evidence gathered. 

A wife that had motive, means, and the opportunity, if her alibi wasn’t too strong. If he had talked to her himself then he probably could have gotten more definite proof, but you win some you lose some. Shawn learned that you have to be there for evidence a long time ago, probably when he was about seven.

A waiter, who was the last one to talk to Marco before he died. Shawn didn’t have a strong enough opinion on him from what he had heard to make a definite claim he was guilty. Then again, not being definite never stopped him from making claims before.

His thoughts stall as Gus parks the car in front of Henry’s house. He unbuckles the seatbelt. “Thanks, Gus.”

“Good luck,” Gus calls out as Shawn walks up the steps. Shawn gives him a thumbs-up.

The inside of the house looks pretty normal. The fishing trinquets and decorative pillows are all in their respective places, and Henry is sitting with one of his ridiculous looking pineapple shirts on the couch, a newspaper in hand.

“Hey, Dad.” Shawn sits on the couch. 

“What case do you want help with this time?” Henry asks, not looking up from the paper.

Shawn chuckles. He knows that he comes to Henry for help every once in a while, but not enough for him to act like it happens every five minutes. He brushes that thought off. “We’ll get to that part later. I wanted some non-case advice first.”

Henry lowers the paper, looking at Shawn with a raised eyebrow. After a moment, he must realize that Shawn isn’t joking, so he folds the newspaper and sets it on the table, adjusting his reading glasses. “Sure.”

“I really like this person. I don’t want to screw it up by… Well. You know. Existing. Doing that thing I do where I drive to a different state at the first sign of conflict?” Shawn sighs and sits at the couch. “I think I love them. But I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I’ve never been this serious before, Dad.”

“Must be a pretty special person,” Henry comments. “What’s her name?”

“You actually know him.”

Henry takes a moment to look at his son. Then he nods. “It’s Lassiter, isn’t it?”

Shawn stops to gape at him. He’s so used to reading other people that whenever his dad does it to him, it always throws him off a bit. It really is scary, he understands why Gus hates it so much when he does it. “I--Well, yeah, it is. How did you--?”

Henry smirks and places a hand to his temple. (Shawn scoffs in response, rolling his eyes.) “Well, I can’t say I’m shocked, Shawn. You’ve always tried to make passes at him, you didn’t really ever try and hide it.”

“I never made--” Shawn stops. “Yeah, okay. That’s fair.”

Henry shrugs. “I mean, in my experience, there was only one way to tell if I loved someone. I didn’t realize it until I married your Mom, and then we had you.”

“Do tell,” Shawn says, trying not to think about how his Mom filed for divorce anyways.

“Love is a versatile thing,” Henry explains. “It isn’t cut and dry. It’s about communication and cooperation. But it’s also about sacrifice. You want to change by not running away, right? That’s already a big thing. What are you and Lassiter willing to do for eachother? Keep in mind that he’s a cop, so I wouldn’t recommend ‘killing anyone that hurts him’ to be your answer.”

“That’s actually really good advice. I’ll—“ Shawn pauses. The mental image of Sophia wearing her husband’s ring surfaces, and his eyes widen. “Dad. Dad, I solved the case!”

“Yeah, that’s great. Happy to help, Shawn.”

But Shawn didn’t hear him; he was already out the door.

-

He parks his motorcycle and then pulls out his phone to call Carlton. The phone rings three times before he answers.

“Lassie! Thank god you picked up. I thought you hated me now and that really would not have been good because--Anyways, I solved it. I’m at Sophia’s house.” Shawn says, walking up the steps to the house.

“Nice job, Spencer. But I’m afraid we beat you to it. The wife’s prints were found on the gun, we’re on our way to arrest her now. I told you we didn’t need you for this case. It’s murder, cut and dry,” Carlton answers smugly.

Shawn knocks on the door. “What? Wait, Lassie it—“

The door opens, and Sophia stands, holding a gun at Shawn. He notices quickly that the safety is off. 

“End the call,” Sophia grits through her teeth. “Now.”

“Carlton,” Shawn says carefully, his eyes trained on the gun. His tone was completely flat. “I’m going to have to call you back. Congrats on the solve. Bye.”

He brings his hand down slowly, his breath still, and ends the call. He continues the slow pace as he puts his hands up. “Sophia, we can talk about this. Preferably sans gun in my face, but I’m not in any position to be picky.“

“Get inside.” Sophia steps to the side, the gun pointed at his chest with scary precision. He notes the complete stillness of her hand. 

As Shawn has had to learn, you do scary things at gunpoint. Like listen to whatever anybody says. That’s never been something Shawn was good at, but put the threat of a mouthful of lead on the package and anything is possible. So he steps into the house slowly as he reluctantly takes his eyes off the weapon.

“Get over in the corner. No funny business, or I’ll shoot,” she barks. Her muscles are strained tight, and she stands tall and confidently. She moves the gun to the back of Shawn’s head, pushing him towards the corner of the living room

Shawn of course, continues to comply, and he stumbles over and sits in the corner of the room. While he sits, he makes a quick glance at the surroundings.

It was a lovely house, if he was being honest. The perfect house to raise a family in, which is what she was probably aiming to do before the death of her husband. Pictures of him were on the mantle of the fireplace, as were dying bouquets that must have been sent to her after his passing. 

“I know that Marco Lunise killed your husband.” Shawn looks over at Sophia cautiously. “You just wanted revenge. Right?”

Sophia doesn’t say a word, standing still with the gun not moving from its position. 

A chill runs up Shawn’s spine. He really hopes that this isn’t the case he dies solving. As his mind starts to race of last-case scenarios, he does the only thing he’s truly an expert at doing, and starts talking.

“He killed your husband, and got away with it,” Shawn continues. “And you were mad. You were even angrier when the police never called you back with updates. So you took justice into your own hands.”

He pauses for a response, but gets nothing but the sound of a clock ticking in the next room, as well as his heart beating out of his chest. The two beats didn’t sound good together, clashing together to make horrific dissonance. He takes a careful breath to steady himself.

“You told the police station you had seen a murder...” He looks up from the gun at Sophia. She was staring at him with her eyebrows crossed, and her lips pressed in a tight frown. He could see fire in her eyes. “You told them because you can’t be a suspect if you’re your own witness. Smart, I’ll give you that much.”

“You knew that your husband was killed in a blind spot, security cameras couldn’t see there. That’s why you chose it to murder Marco. Well, that and to rub it in his face before you killed him,” Shawn slowly lowers his hands.

Sophia clicks the gun, glaring at Shawn. She still remains quiet.

“That gun wasn’t yours. It’s Marco’s, wasn’t it?” Shawn keeps talking, the palms of his hands starting to sweat. “You stole it. After your husband was murdered. You wore gloves that would hide your fingerprints... but not Jessie’s fingerprints. You framed her, isn’t that right? So where’d you get the second gun? The murder weapon is in evidence.”

“The Lunise house has multiple firearms. I did what I had to do,” Sophia said darkly. “Jessie wasn’t supposed to die.”

“...You set the whole thing up. I can sense it, I know your plan. You befriended Jessie before you killed Marco. You learned he was cheating, and where he hung out; so you knew exactly where to go so could lure him to his death, and you knew who you could pin it on,” Shawn nods. “I can see it all.”

“You only killed her because she found out the truth. Isn’t that right?” Shawn asks slowly. “It was an accident.”

“Do you understand why I had to do it?” Sophia asks, her eyebrows lifting just slightly. She simply looked broken, like a woman who’s life had been taken away from her piece by piece. Even so, the steadiness in her hand didn’t falter. “Why I just HAD to kill him?”

“Yeah,” Shawn thinks back to what his dad said. “I understand why you did it. So why don’t you just put the gun down. I can help you.”

“You can’t help me,” Sophia laughs dryly. “Not anymore. You had your chance. I remember you reading the case file about my husband. You said it was boring. You asked for something else to work on.”

Shawn pauses, not remembering the instance. His skin prickles as he realizes that he isn’t going to win this time, because he already lost by not helping her sooner. “Sophia, I—“

“My husband was not boring.” She snaps, her voice shaking with anger. It calms down eerily quick, her words slowly turning to sharp ice. “My husband was the best thing that’s ever happened to me. He was my love. He was my safety. He was my home. And I lost him in a single night, just because some asshole wanted to pick a fight with a good, innocent man.”

“Sophia, put the gun down. We can talk about this,” Shawn backs up, his hands going back up. “I’m sorry about your husband, truly, I am. But I can help you now, I—“

“Stupid little psychic.” Sophia stalks closer, her finger reaching for the trigger. “Is this exciting enough for you?”

“Exciting isn’t exactly the word that comes to mind, actually,” Shawn blurts.

“Let me ask you something,” Sophia steps closer. “Do you have somebody at home? A wife? A girlfriend?”

Shawn can’t help but think of a certain detective with blue eyes and a stern voice. He sighs, the feeling of a sharp knife twisting at his heart with the thought of never being able to tell Carlton, or even seeing him ever again. “Yeah. Something like that.”

“Perfect,” she says with a wicked smile. “Then she’ll know how devastating it is when she gets the call that her lover is dead.”

Regret swirls in Shawn’s stomach, making him nauseous. If only he had done this, if only he had done that—but it doesn’t matter in the end.

He stares at the gun. It’s a weapon he’s seen multiple times. He’s held its weight in his hands, pulled the heavy trigger with his finger—he’s been on the receiving ends plenty of times, too. Times where he knew that he wasn’t going to die, and that it wasn’t going to be the last time he saw a gun. 

This was not one of those times. 

“Can I call him?”

Sophia looks at him carefully. “Did I get a chance to say goodbye to my husband?”

Shawn doesn’t respond, not wanting to say the answer for fear that it may be his fate as well.

It doesn’t matter anyways, for Sophia smiles something sinister and her eyes darken as she chooses her next words.

“Exactly.”

-

“On my count,” Detective Lassiter shouts. “One. Two. Three!”

The door of the Lunise Household falls to the floor with a crash, pieces of the wooden door flying up from the ground.

Inside, there lay Jessie sprawled out on the floor, with her eyes distant and her skin pale. A pile of her blood stuck red on to the tile beside her head, and bullet shells lay scattered around her body. The smell of iron was ever so pungent in the air, but it didn’t smell of a rotting corpse just yet, meaning this murder was fresh. 

Lassiter feels a stone of dread drop to the bottom of his stomach. He lowers his gun. “Shit,” He sighs. “Somebody call the coroner. We need a body bag.”

“Carlton,” Juliet says from beside him, her voice low and worried. “If this isn’t the murderer’s house, then the person is still out there. Please tell me you sent Shawn and Gus home.”

Everything seems to slow as Lassiter remembers Shawn’s last call. How Shawn had uncharacteristically said his first name, how he had hung up so quick, how he thought he heard a familiar clicking sound on the other end… And of course how Shawn said that he solved the case.

“Shit,” He repeats, his voice colder this time. His heart begins to hammer against his chest, and he turns to address the crowd of officers. “I want McNab and Dobson here. Call backup to help you sort this mess. Everyone else is with me. We need to move quickly, one of our own is at the murderer’s house.”

There was a flurry of motion after that, officers moving around the place with speed as they followed their new orders. Carlton jogs briskly out of the house and yanks the car door open, his mind concentrated on one thing only: Get Shawn back in safe hands.

“Partner, do you want me to drive?” Juliet asks as she climbs into the passenger seat. “I know this is personal for you.”

“No,” Carlton starts the car and pulls on his shades. His voice doesn’t waver, instead carrying an edge sharper than a dagger. “This is my job.”

Juliet stays quiet on the way to the house. She doesn’t ask whether or not Lassiter meant his job was to keep Shawn safe, or if he was talking about being an officer. Somehow, she knows if she were to ask for clarification, he would have said both.

They have multiple cars following them, including a SWAT team and an ambulance, and they’re driving fast towards the house. Lassiter never was one for praying, but he said something hoping to God that Shawn was still alive under his breath.

Juliet frowns at him. “Carlton, it’s going to be okay. Shawn is strong. We both know it. He’ll make it through this, I promise.”

Carlton thinks back to the only time he had said that to somebody.

It was a wife who came into the station panicked, begging Carlton to find her husband and bring him back in good health. He was new to the station, probably in his first three weeks. He looked into the woman’s scared eyes and promised. The husband was found dead a month later. The woman’s heart wrenching scream still sounded through his nightmares sometimes.

“O’Hara, you know better than to say things you can’t promise,” Carlton says icily. 

Juliet stays silent after that.

They arrive at the house, and Lassiter has his gun drawn and loaded before they even get to the door. O’Hara is at his side, and SWAT is behind them.

“SPBD,” Lassiter shouts. “OPEN UP!”

There’s complete quiet for a moment, and they all listen for a response.

There isn’t one.

Lassiter opens his mouth to shout again, but then a deafening gunshot sounds through the air. Every hair on his arms and neck rises as if he’d been struck by lightning. He kicks down the door immediately, and everybody falls into the room. 

He points the gun at Sophia’s leg, pulling the trigger in a second. She screams in pain, dropping the gun and holding her new wound. Officers rush forward to handcuff her, and to take the weapon.

In the meantime, Carlton trips over himself to get to Shawn’s side. The man is holding his chest, of all places to get shot. There’s a bloodied hole in his shirt, and the area around the hole is charred from the heat of the bullet. 

“Shawn!” He quickly applies pressure on the wound, holding his hands over Shawn’s. Blood continues to spill from the wound, covering the shirt like a flower blooming slowly in the spring. “Stay with me. I need the paramedics!”

“Lassie,” Shawn coughs, grimacing in pain. He gives him a bleeding smile. “I solved the case for you again.”

“Yeah—Yeah, you did. Good job,” Lassiter says quickly. “You can solve the next one too. I won’t even complain. Just make sure you’re there for the next one, okay Spencer?”

“Mmhm. Okay. Ugh, this sucks so hard.” Shawn shakes his head. His voice drops to a ghostly whisper. “Hey. I need to tell you somethin’.”

Lassiter strains to hear him against his own heartbeat, his eyebrows crossed angrily. Blood starts to cover his hands. “It can wait, Shawn! Just focus on staying alive, damn it!”

“Hey. Hey,” Shawn’s voice is desperate now. He shivers from the pain. “Carlton, please. Please le’me talk. It’s muy importante, mkay?.”

Lassiter looks at him, finally, and the anger melts from his features. Instead, he just looks scared. It’s the first time Shawn’s seen him scared, and he hates that it was his doing. 

“What?” Carlton whispers back.

“‘M not psychic,” Shawn seethes through his teeth, just quiet enough for him to hear. The pain continues through his ribs, stinging and throbbing so he holds his side even tighter. He takes a deep breath, and it feels wet with blood.

“Shawn,” Carlton’s voice wavers, but remains strong. “I know. I’ve always known, and it’s fine, okay? C’mon, Spencer. Don’t focus on any of that. Just keep breathing, for God’s sake.”

“Tell Gus that I am... so…” Shawn falters, looking for a word. “Tell him I’m sorry, and that ‘m grateful, okay? And ‘m grateful for you, and for my mom, ‘n my dad… for Jules… ‘an ‘m running outta things to say, tha’s never happen’d before,” he laughs bitterly. His face scrunches up in agony from the laughter.

The fact that Shawn wasn’t joking as much, and instead talked in a quiet and pained voice hurt more than Lassie could’ve ever imagined. It was so out of character for the man, and suddenly Lassie realized how much he appreciated Shawn’s stupid jokes and eccentric personality. Without those things, he simply wasn’t Shawn. And, well, he loved Shawn.

Distantly, Carlton can hear paramedics rush into the room. Despite this, he doesn’t look away from Shawn.

“No.” Lassiter shakes his head. “You can tell everyone that yourself.”

Lassiter notices the paleness of Shawn’s cheeks, and how his eyes are one of the most beautiful shades of brown he’d ever seen.

A tear falls down Shawn’s cheek. Lassiter wipes the tear away, leaving a swipe of red blood in its place. “Lassie, I wasn’t planning on dying today.”

“You won’t.”

He takes note of things he’s never realized before, too, like how Shawn’s eyelashes are beautiful and dark and how he has the smallest of freckles on the sides of his cheeks. 

“I promise,” Carlton says firmly.

He stands up from the ground and steps away from Shawn, and the paramedics take over. They pull him onto a stretcher and continue applying pressure. He’s more aware of his heartbeat again, which is quick and heavy in his ribcage.

Carlton feels a hand on his shoulder, and he looks over numbly. Juliet is standing next to him, rubbing his shoulder in comfort. Her expression is full of sympathy, and he is once again grateful to have her loyally at his side. “Hey, partner.”

“O’Hara.” He says simply. His hands are held in front of him, covered and dripping with Shawn’s blood, but he doesn’t seem to notice as he watches the aforementioned man get pulled into the ambulance.

“Go with him,” Juliet nudges him forward. “You need each other. I called Gus, he’ll meet you at the hospital. You can explain to him what happened.”

Lassiter doesn’t have any thought to argue, so he nods and walks out of the house. His movements seem as if he’s walking through a large vat of honey; slow and lethargic. He steps forward to the paramedics. “Excuse me. Head Detective Carlton Lassiter. Can I ride in the back?”

The two paramedics look at eachother, seemingly communicating with their eyes. Carlton recognizes the gesture, he does the same thing with Juliet. One of the paramedics looks at him. “Sure.”

He climbs into the back of the ambulance, sitting beside Shawn’s head. 

Shawn looks up at him, his eyes only half open. He has an oxygen mask over his face, and he looks incredibly out of it. He’s already hooked up to an IV.

One of the paramedics hands him wipes for his hands. “We gave him medication, and he’s lost some blood, so he won’t be very responsive. He should be able to understand you though.”

The ambulance doors are pulled shut and they start to move. Carlton quickly wipes his hands, trying to hold back a shiver at how fast the white cloth becomes red. He then tosses the wipe.

Shawn lazily raises his arm, and hits his hand against Carlton’s chest with the bare minimum of coordination and grace. He tries again to raise his arm, this time trying to find Carlton’s hand.

Carlton seems to understand, and takes his hand gently. He squeezes once, and finds comfort in the warmth of their tangled fingers. “I’m here,” he murmurs.

The pain of Shawn’s chest becomes numb. He lets his eyes close, listening to the sound of the ambulance’s sirens as the medication takes over.

-

When Shawn opens his eyes, it’s all fuzzy. He can see the hospital room, but it’s blurred like water spilled on a watercolour painting. He blinks a few times to get the image clearer.

He’s cold. That’s something he knows for sure. His entire chest is numb, probably from the medication. He runs his tongue along the inside of his mouth, his throat painfully dry.

He finally notices Gus sitting in a chair beside him. He smiles and opens his mouth, coughing instantly from the dryness. It sends a shockwave of needle-like pain throughout his chest, and he grimaces.

It gets Gus’s attention all the same, for he turns off his phone instantly to look at Shawn. “Oh thank god, you’re awake.”

Shawn nods lethargically. His neck felt stiff as a board.

“There’s water right there,” Gus points to the bedside table, where there was a paper cup.

Shawn took the cup gratefully, and guzzled the water down. “Thanks,” he rasps.

“Shawn, don’t ever scare me like that again. I thought you had died.” Gus glares at him, speaking quick and accusingly. “Do you know how fast I drove over here? I ran past three red lights, at least. The only reason Juliet didn’t pull me over was because she felt sorry for me.”

“‘M sorry.”

“I’m not finished,” he interrupts, holding up a finger. “It’s terrifying to get a call from a police officer saying that your best friend that you’ve known since you were in diapers is in the hospital for a GSW. You could very well have died, and it would have been your own dumb, stupid fault.”

“I know,” Shawn says sincerely, his voice full of patience. “I know. I’m sorry, Gus.”

Guilt does twinge at Shawn’s heart. He knows he’s supposed to be more careful, take more precautions—that sort of thing. It’s his own fault that he gets too excited and rushes head first into situations. It’s been like that since day one. That’s how all this started, after all. If he was any more awake than he was right now, the guilt would have stung a lot more; but as of now, he’s just lucky to be alive.

Gus looks at Shawn a moment longer before sighing, his defense dropping. “I’m so glad you’re okay, man. I don’t know what I would do without you. I love you, but you’re an idiot sometimes, Shawn. You really have to think more before you end up killing yourself.”

“You’re giving me very mixed messages here,” Shawn grins tiredly. “But I understand what you mean. I love you too, man.”

(The truth of the matter was that Gus and Shawn were one in the same. You literally can’t have one without the other. They’ve been inseparable since forever, and they’ll continue to be there for eachother even if Shawn is an idiot who gets himself shot far too many times for someone of his IQ.)

“Lassiter told me what happened. Are you two, like, dating now?” 

Lassie was not something Shawn had thought of until now. He can’t remember everything from when he was shot, just bits and pieces. But Lassie had been there, and he had been helping Shawn apply pressure to the wound. He remembers the smell of Carlton’s cologne mixing with the scent of blood. He remembers him spitting out the truth, but he can’t remember the exact words due to his thoughts of that moment being fuzzy and stressed.

“Gus.” Shawn looks over at Gus. “I think I told him.”

“That you like him back?”

“No, not that. I told him about the—“ Shawn does his usual I’m-a-psychic motion. “That whole thing. I told him the truth.”

“Wow,” Gus blinks. “That’s… How did he take that? Do I need to throw away my SPBD visitor badge?”

Shawn thinks for a moment, trying to remember what Carlton’s response was. Although he can’t really remember all of the details, he remembers the feeling that Lassiter accepted him anyways. He shakes his head. “No. I don’t think so.”

“I’ll take it,” Gus shrugs.

“Where is Lassie, actually?”

“Juliet made him go home to shower and eat about five minutes ago. I could probably run and get him, he couldn’t have made it far.” Gus looks towards the door.

“No, no. Let him go. He should go do those things. When can I go home?” Shawn itches at the thought of spending forever in a hospital bed. 

Gus furrows his eyebrows in concern. “You can’t leave anytime soon, that’s for damn sure. Are you forgetting that you almost died?”

Shawn’s chest tightens at the mention of his near death experience, which he promptly decides to ignore. 

“Of course not, I just don’t want to be here for anything longer than a week. What did the doctor say?” Shawn asks, yawning.

Gus clicks his tongue. “Shawn, I don’t know why you don’t have a sense of self-preservation, but I am not going to be an enabler.” He shakes his head and turns away from Shawn, going back on his phone.

Shawn rolls his eyes. “Fine.”

At some point while Gus is ignoring him, Shawn falls asleep, the physical exhaustion once again making him tired enough to drift.

When he wakes back up, Gus is no longer sitting with him. In his spot, Carlton now sits, leaning back in the chair with his arms crossed. His eyes are closed, meaning that he was either asleep or relaxing. His hair was wet, either from a shower or from rain; Shawn assumed it was the former.

Shawn watches his chest rise and fall for a moment, noticing the stress in Carlton’s face even as he was seemingly asleep. He then sighs and lets his head drop back on the pillow.

At the noise, Carlton’s head snaps back up and his hands go to steady himself on the chair. He takes a moment to blink and then looks over at Shawn. “Shawn. Are you okay?”

“I’m feeling pretty fantastic, Lassie. Other than the hole in my chest, of course, but that’s neither here nor there.” Shawn opens his eyes back up. “Did you arrest Sophia?”

“Of course,” Lassiter says firmly. “I’m sorry our mistake of judgement almost costed you your life, Spencer”

Shawn smirks. “Spencer?” He questions.

“Shawn,” Carlton corrects himself, although sounding a bit confused himself.

Shawn’s smirk widens into a grin. “I’ve heard it both ways.”

Carlton snorts. “Shut up.”

Shawn sighs, letting his body relax again. He was alive. He was safe. The case was solved. And Lassiter didn’t hate him; in fact, quite the opposite. There’s a peaceful quiet that sets between them. Something full of mutual respect and trust—something pure.

“I’m really glad you don’t hate me, gotta be honest, Lassie.” Shawn blinks away from him, avoiding eye contact. “For the whole psychic thing. I just— I wanted you to know. I didn’t want to run anymore.”

Carlton furrows his eyebrows, as if beginning to understand what he was trying to say. “I see.”

“Lassie, you snuck up on me,” Shawn laughs slightly. “You’re like… a prize in a cereal box that wasn’t supposed to have prizes in it. You’re magnificent. And I don’t want to run from you because I like you, Lassie. I like you a lot. I like you even more than you like me, I bet.”

Carlton listens to him finish his mini-monologue, his eyebrows raised. 

“Well, that’s a very… you thing to say,” Carlton starts. He tries to hide his smile. “But how do you even know that I like you to begin with, Spencer?”

Shawn begins to smile as well, and then places his middle finger up to his temple.

Somehow, it’s exactly what Carlton expected.

And he was more than okay with that.

Fin.


End file.
